


Embrace

by Clarebearxxxxxo



Series: The Tragedy of Evangeline Mason [1]
Category: Young Adult (2011)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23852635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarebearxxxxxo/pseuds/Clarebearxxxxxo
Summary: Evangeline Mason always knew there was something different about her.  She's about to find out exactly what that difference is.This is an original work inspired by several young adult fiction works.
Series: The Tragedy of Evangeline Mason [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718833





	1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE**

**Nel Mezzo Del Cammin Di Nostra Vita**

**In the Middle of the Journey of Our Lives**

Dante Alighieri,  _ La Divina Commedia: Inferno,  _ Canto 1:1

**Chapter one:**

“What do you hear Ella?” he asked softly. He stared intently into my emerald green eyes, intrigued by them. They were different, unusual. It didn’t really matter to me that he was staring, I was used to it. The green shone so brightly against the dark black background, sparkling like emeralds. I slumped into the uncomfortable white plastic chair. I was so bored by this whole conversation already, but at least I was in control. I was always in control. I’d had this conversation before. I knew he was only asking me for the same reason every psychiatrist before him had asked – he thought I was crazy. I wasn’t afraid of what he thought. In fact I wasn’t afraid of anyone but myself. I had a good reason to be, and if he was smart – he would fear me too. I took a moment before answering, taking in the room around me. It was sterile, made up of stainless steel and white walls, furniture, fittings. It was so clinical, cold - the smell of antiseptic was dizzying. 

“I hear whispers,” I said calmly, matter-of-factly. There was no emotion in my voice and I kept my eyes fixed on him as he spoke. 

“And what do they say?” he asked putting two closed fists on the table in front of him. 

“They tell me what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. They can tell me your future.” I drew out every word, emphasising the last word in each phrase. 

“Like being psychic?” he said in a matter of fact tone despite the possibility sounding completely ridiculous to a lay person. 

“I’m not psychic,” I smiled. Psychic was such a boring term. My powers were far more impressive than what  _ psychic  _ inferred, but I omitted telling him, “I simply sense things,  people. Empathetic maybe?” I provided. He leant back in his chair, trying to convey the same nonchalant demeanour. 

“That’s interesting, isn’t it Ella?” I wasn’t sure what to say to this, it seemed such an odd thing to say whilst judging someone. “You know, I’m your friend in this, I’m here for you, you can talk to me,” he said waving his hand, gesturing towards me. I suppose he wanted to sound inviting, but nothing could be farther than the truth. I could sense the true meanings behind his words and there was nothing friendly about them whatsoever. 

“Then why are you talking to me through one way glass?” I asked coldly. I rose from the uncomfortable plastic white chair and walked around the small white room. I felt violated and naked in the loose white hospital gown. My body was so frail that my bones jutted out awkwardly from underneath it. I hadn’t always been so thin or ‘alienesque’ as the institution had once described me. Only two years ago I had been the envy of all those around me. How things had changed. I walked straight up to the glass and stood there, staring directly at him – where he should be, where I sensed he was.

“You see something else don’t you? Something dark, something you’ve known since you were a child?” he asked, trying to change the subject. 

“Yes,” I said simply. 

“What is it? Explain it to me,” I laughed but shook slightly as the image he was referring to replayed in my mind. I could feel the pain, the cold, the dark. What he was referring to was my secret, and not now, nor ever, would I reveal it. No one would ever know my secret, I would make sure. It was the one vision that had plagued me all my life and not even I knew its origin. It was the basis of all my problems, my bitterness, my little  _ hobby.  _ Everything in my life stemmed from this one image. There was only one thing I was prepared to say about it; 

“I see my own death,” I answered feeling another slice of pain shoot through my spine as the words came out. 

“So you know how you are going to die?” he asked intrigued, “tell me,”

“That’s personal isn’t it?” I walked back over to the chair and sat back down, leaning back casually. He was trying to do everything he could to seem composed, but I sensed him shiver. “I refuse to tell you how, but it is soon,” I said smiling at him,

“Does it scare you?” I choked up as soon as the words escaped him – there was only one possible answer,

“Yes.”

As you sit there observing my life there is one thing you need to know about me: I am dangerous. I am angry, inhumane and bitter; but above all I’m dangerous. I cannot be trusted under any circumstances. I’ve never been considered normal. I knew there was and had always been something different about me. I don’t like having people around me and I loathe going to busy places. It’s not that I don’t always like the attention; I simply don’t want people around me. I hate the awkward silence, the pressure to talk, the way people ask questions even when they couldn’t really care less about you. Most of all, I hate the way people lie; the false emotions and the double meanings. I am a solitary person and that’s how I prefer it. Despite this, I have never been lonely. I live in my own unique world, and I love every single second of it. However, my world has been destroyed. It all started two and half years ago with a whisper and a dream. These whispers are the remnants of thoughts and memories from others, which race through my mind and have never stopped. Whispers all day long, torturing me. Along with the whispers was the constant reminder of how I would die. Does anyone blame me now for being bitter? I am plagued by that horrifying painful vision. 

Before you delve into my unprecedented world, I feel I should warn you. This is not a story about witches or wizards, vampires or werewolves. This story doesn’t concern itself with the supernatural and paranormal per se. Nevertheless, it is an extraordinary story. I am dangerous, in every sense of the word. I am not the good guy in this story. I can make the strongest people fall at my feet, and grown men cower in fear. 

Most stories polarise themselves around a simplistic and moronic concept of good and  evil I shall do no such thing. Good and evil  is complex and need to be treated accordingly. They are too complex for the primitive human mind to conceive. Furthermore, I have no intention to lecture you on philosophy, morals or values. Instead I am going to tell you my story: simply and truthfully. I will leave in all the details, wonderful and gruesome, in telling this extraordinarily ordinary story.

This is the story of my death.


	2. Leaving Home

Chapter Two  ****

I lay across my bed kicking my feet in the air, looking at the perfectly packed red suitcase sitting motionless on the floor. I had packed that suitcase so many times before I could have done it blindfolded. I knew how to make everything fit, and although it sat there, looking perfect and full I felt like something was missing. I willed myself to get up and look for what I’d missed. I was never ever wrong when I had this feeling and knew I would find whatever it was easily. I checked under my bed to find a lonely black sock. I picked it up and added it to the assortment in the front pocket. 

Tomorrow I was off to yet another boarding school. I felt ambivalent when it came to boarding schools, mostly because I didn’t see the point. To say my family is well off is an understatement. I have had everything I could ever want, and I have never complained. Well, I say I have never complained...that’s not to say I haven’t whinged about anything – it’s only natural when you’re my age (apparently). My parents would buy me whatever it was that I wanted, or whatever they thought I should want at my age. As a kid, I had had dolls, dogs, cats and ponies, and when I got older they bought me phones, makeup, clothes, and laptops. Despite their so-called generosity, at the start of every year I would be sent to another school that my parents felt ‘would set me up for life.’ Although they claim to have my best interests in mind – when you live within walking distance of five very good private girl’s schools – you begin to wonder if your parents are simply trying to get rid of you. 

It was no secret that whenever my brother and I were gone our parents would be off enjoying their lives through extended ‘work conferences’ at ski lodges, or beach resorts. I guess we just have those parents. The ones who wanted children because they thought they should or because they wanted to parade us around for their friends. It’s probably a shame for them that we weren’t those children. Well, my eldest sister maybe but she was so much older than me I barely knew her. I tried not to dwell on it. There was no point lamenting over what I couldn’t change. I fidgeted, twisting and turning over on my bed trying to get comfortable as I scrolled through Instagram. Overseas influencers rugged up in furs skiing made me sweat, I hated summer. Even now with the air-conditioner running I felt sweat drip down the back of my neck. I kicked my feet impatiently along the edge of my bed once more as I toyed with the idea of getting up for a drink. I really didn’t want to have to go downstairs. I could picture it now – mum would be sitting on the couch, drinking a gin and tonic. Our housekeeper Anne would most likely be in the kitchen cleaning out the cupboards before joining mum with her own gin and tonic before heading home whilst father would be in his study, muttering complaints to himself about various things in his company. 

My father is best described through his work. He is currently the CEO of Klimt’s Powders, a washing powder company completely separate from the rightly more famous artist Klimt. Father was very proud of his company and their products, but our Housekeeper never actually used them (not that he knew that). 

Instead, I walked over to the balcony of my room. It was a small rectangular perch that jutted out from my room, just enough for you to stand outside and feel the cool smoggy air. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke far out into the city. This was one of my guilty pleasures. I only enjoyed it in the sense that smoking had become such a social taboo, and no one knew I did it. It was something I did on my own, in complete secrecy. 

“Evangeline” father called from the down the corridor, I heard the door handle turn slowly. I threw the cigarette promptly over the edge of the balcony and blew the last ring of smoke before returning in doors and spraying perfume on my hands and neck. 

“How many times” I whined lying back down across my bed on my stomach. I hated my name. “Everyone else calls me Ella, can’t you?” It made me sound old, refined and rich. Where I had grown up, Brussels, Evangeline was a perfectly acceptable name considering its French origin. However, in an English speaking country appeared to have too many negative connotations. 

Father came in and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Forgetting for a moment that my father was a workaholic, he was a genuinely nice man and oddly still handsome despite his thinning grey hair. He had fought to keep in shape and even had a personal trainer come to his office three times a week. He was always awkward around me, his teenage daughter. He must have assumed I would grow up to be a devoted daughter like Isolde, but I just didn’t have that sort of personality. It didn’t help that deep down he had realised that both Will and I resented being sent away every year and treated as ‘disposable’, even if we never said it out loud. My father had never once apologised or explained his reasons to us but I knew that was just in his nature. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that sometimes he wanted to, that he felt he should. Isolde, my older sister, never understood our resentment even after admitting her upbringing had been completely different to ours. 

“No. I chose Evangeline because I like it and I intend to use it as much as possible.” His tone made it sound like I was a five year old in trouble, not a seventeen year old girl about to leave home yet again. “Besides, it was your grandmother’s name and considering she died using her name is the least you can do for her memory.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to show some sign of remorse. He had used this argument before, and it didn’t work. I can’t imagine how he thought it would. Gran had hated her name more than I did and she made no secret of it. “You need to get some sleep. I’ve told Anne to bring you some peppermint tea and to take your cases downstairs to the car.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to thank him. I felt no need to, Anne did all the work around the house, and knowing her – bringing me tea was probably her idea. After the silence grew to an uncomfortable level, he spoke again: “You know we want to come and drop you off ourselves, but...” he trailed off. Perhaps he was afraid at how the next part of the sentence made him sound like an inadequate parent. 

“It’s fine,” I said trying to sound sincere but all the while knowing that their trip could easily have been changed and that it had very little to do with actual business. I never understood that actually. Why rich businessmen needed to have meetings over lunch or discuss matters on a golf course. Nothing ever seemed to be resolved at those meetings, except who could flash their credit card the most. 

“I knew you’d understand honey,” he smiled haphazardly; I think this might have been his way to show he really did care. Either way, it was a little late now. I know I sound ungrateful after boasting that I have nothing to complain about. I am not ungrateful or hateful towards my family, just disappointed. “Now, we’re not going to have any more of this nonsense....I won’t be called to come down and....” he trailed off at the end because I knew exactly what he meant. It was an awkward family subject but one that we had faced many times before. 

“It’s not nonsense, I told you...” 

“Ella, you're better than this – you do not....it is absolutely absurd.” He shouted stamping his foot on the ground in frustration. The room fell silent once more. 

“I don’t what?” I said after what felt like the longest moment of silence possible. 

“Really? We're going to do this are we?” 

“Do what?” 

“You are so childish sometimes, you know that?” He retorted. I rolled my eyes, 

“Whatever.” 

“Evangeline, if you think I’ll go to your school – waste five hours of my time travelling to that school – just for this problem again,” 

“But I was right,” 

“But you don’t hear voices, no one does Evangeline...it’s....let’s say nothing more about it. When you’re older you will thank-me for drumming this stupid idea out of your head before it takes over any more of your life.” He sat down next to me now, “I mean it you have so much potential. Final year of school coming up and the marks are there, Eden College is an amazing school. You can get into any course you want, do whatever you want, just stop this nonsense and concentrate this year.” 

“Fine,” I said defeated. I found no point arguing any further with him. He turned around and walked up to the doorway. 

"Okay, now get some sleep.” I kept looking at that smile on Father’s face. It was a thinking smile – as if I could see what was going on inside his mind. He was worried he had lost his chance with both me and my brother. It was probably true. Will had left years ago and never called in case Father answered. I was slipping through his grip too. I looked deep into his eyes; they were sullen and sad but loving at the same time. I knew my parents loved me, and I knew at this moment that there was something more than the usual going on his mind. I stood still, and cleared my mind, still focusing on his smile. I sensed he really didn’t want me to go, like something would change if he let me go to this new school. I smiled back. 

“Don’t worry about me Father, really. How many schools have I been to now?” His face eased, no longer contorted with that motionless smile. I was good at calming people, or making them feel better. It was usually just a ruse; I rarely ever believed what I said. No matter how callous I may appear, I genuinely did care about hurting the feelings of others. 

“Goodnight” he stated simply and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I went into the en suite to brush my teeth. Usually I would get changed and then brush my teeth and wash my face. I was a creature of habit, but tonight, feeling isolated, unwanted and bored – I headed straight into my en suite. I stared into the mirror for a long time. My perfect black curls hung loosely around my shoulders and caressed my arms and back as I put a headband on and washed my face. I stared into my eyes, looking through them as if trying to discover who I really was. I don’t know why I continued to do this every night, it never worked. I had always wished that I had some answer, some insight into my existence. My eyes were a dark but clear green, with flecks of brown becoming obvious when the light hit them. I stared intently into them, but as usual, no answers came. I didn’t have some sudden insight into which I was, and figured that this would probably continue throughout my life – I would always go about being Evangeline Florence Mason, without ever understanding exactly who she is. It’s difficult to describe myself to a stranger, if that’s what you’re after. People are multi-faceted and complicated, how could a few sentences ever do that justice? I suppose I would start by saying, I am Evangeline Florence Mason, commonly referred to as ‘Ella.’ I love clean sheets, un-tucked beds and the smell of rain on a summer’s morning. I love the cold wintery winds and the smell of chips. How’s that for a brief introduction? I looked deeper into my eyes. I knew by looking at myself that I was beautiful. It sounds pretentious, but nevertheless true. My long black hair was thick and the curls sat perfectly: in rain, shine or humidity. I wasn’t particularly tall but everything was in proportion. My skin has always been pale despite how many exotic and sunny countries I went to in the summer, but it never looked awkward against my dark features. I stood there, in front of the mirror, for probably way too long. I tried to think of the strategies I would use at this new school. I didn’t like to be noticed as the ‘new’ girl, so I tried to think of a successful way to avoid too much interaction or attention. The uniform was boring – not that I’d seen it properly, except in a photo once, so at least there was that. I thought I would leave my hair down, so it would cover my face, but that could sometimes backfire. There are always the people who will introduce themselves or come closer, just to see what you’re hiding under your hair. I know they’re always disappointed when I don’t have a wart or a hooked nose. I heard Anne open the door and realised that I needed to finish getting ready before she knocked the door down to come in and find me. The last thing I needed was her to come in here worried about me. Anne had been around for as long as I could remember. She was hired to look after Will just before I was born to give mum a hand and then sort of just stayed on. She was a large boisterous woman; loud, opinionated and oblivious to most social cues. Will and I loved it though, she really kept our parents in line – stopped them getting too high on their own wealth and power. Will and I loved her like a mother – because she practically had been. Mum and I had a fantastic relationship though – when we were actually together - but it was different. Mum was never really warm or nurturing, like me I suppose. When mum and I were together we tended to just go shopping or go for a walk. We rarely had deep conversations like some people do with their mothers, but we did share a special connection. Anne on the other hand always looked out for Will (my brother) and I, and whilst she was around we were always well looked after, dressed and fed. Every year she leaves for three weeks to have her own holiday. These three weeks usually mean wearing unwashed clothes and eating take-away meals. Although Will and I could fend for ourselves (one of the pros of boarding schools, although I still can’t cook beyond cup-a-soup and the occasional roast) our mother is useless and although she knows it, she tries (for three weeks a year) to be the perfect housewife. As usual, she fails miserably and Will and I sneak into the guesthouse by the pool to use the kitchen and laundry. 

“Ella, you alright?” she yelled out. I turned off the tap after realising I’d left it running and walked calmly to the door, still drying my face with the towel. Anne was standing there carrying a tray. She walked in and put it on the dresser as I gathered my pyjamas and walked toward my en suite. Anne fussed around the dresser and started walking around my enormous bedroom fixing things, or at least pretending to fix things as she went. 

“Now, are you sure you’ve got everything? Your tea and a few biscuits are there – are hobnobs okay? I know you used to like them. I washed some of those others clothes last night – did you get them out of the laundry?” She said in one long enormous breath, all the time looking in the opposite direction utterly focused on tidying and fixing my already immaculate room. 

“Yes” I responded mindlessly, though in all honesty – I hadn’t bothered to check the laundry. “I wouldn’t mind that blue jumper though” I said without really knowing why. I didn’t really care about that blue jumper – I actually preferred my black one. I felt Anne really just wanted me to say something, anything. 

“I’ll fetch it” again, she spoke without glancing up in my direction. Finally I grabbed my blue and red pyjamas from under my pillow and started heading to the en suite door. 

“You’re so much quieter than your brother,” Anne laughed, her boisterous voice filling up the room. 

“So you keep saying, perhaps one day the two of us will get to see each other.” My voice was probably too sullen for her liking, but suited my mood – cold, morose and empty. Will and I had probably spent most of the last six years apart. He was also sent too many different boarding schools, although rarely ever the same ones. Even when we were at the same school, the boy’s area was always separate and the three-year gap between us didn’t help. Since leaving high school and refusing to go to Uni like my parents expected, Will had become a model and later a TV presenter. He was now working on his second film in Mexico about drug trade. I hadn’t seen his for almost three entire years. I envied his freedom and independence and wished more than anything that he would at least call me. I hated having to read second hand information on what my brother was working on. He refused to monitor his own social media, and employed a manager to run his Instagram, TikTok and Twitter. Occasionally he would respond to me online, but rarely. 

The day before school had always been Will and I’s day. We would start by having a late breakfast, usually by the pool and then spend the day teasing each other in the same brotherly-sisterly way most siblings did. He would usually tease me for being short or weak and I would usually kick him in the shins forcefully when I was sure neither Anne nor Mum could see. It didn’t help that the last time he left the house he had sworn to never return whilst my father was alive. 

“Smile Ella,” She said holding her arm out and sitting on my bed. I ignored her gesture, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me down to sit next to her. 

“I mean it, smile. Why are you so worried? Worried you’re going to miss your folks? Worried they might not be able to fend without you?” she laughed. Her laugh was infectious to all it seemed but me, especially tonight. 

“It’s late Anne, thanks for the tea. My suitcase is there, packed and ready to go. I’ll be downstairs early, I promise.” I grabbed my pyjamas and walked straight into the en suite to get changed. I sensed my actions had hurt Anne. She had been a good friend, and mother really, to both me and Will. However tonight whilst I was still contemplating how I should feel about being sent away yet again, I didn’t feel like being nice. 

I thought about home whilst I slept. Not the structure but the city – its ambience and vibe. Although I had moved around a lot as a child, I had always felt of this city as my home or my playground. Yes, I was born in this bustling city, but I had only lived here for two years before moving to Brussels. When I was thirteen, we moved back and aside from one boarding school in Belgium I had tried to remain as close to home as possible. Isolde once asked me to explain what it is that I love, but there isn’t even one thing; it’s a mixture of things. I loved the busyness, the authenticity of the streets; I loved the shopping and the cafes. I even loved the dreary, dull weather. But mostly, I loved the anonymity. Nobody cared who I was, and I didn’t care who they were. I could go by unnoticed. This was the most important feature to me. I didn’t like being noticed, because I was different. It wasn’t obvious from the outside, but people stayed away from me as if I exuded some strange energy. In the city, I was simply ignored. 

I was used to getting out of bed early, but these past few weeks sleep was a little hard to come by. I spent the entire night tossing and turning to the sound of air-conditioning. I thought about spending the next half hour in bed, hitting snooze again and again. I was still toying with the idea of catching some more sleep but as I closed my eyes, it was there. The vision that haunted me plagued me. I could see it so clearly, and I could feel the pain of my death. I opened my eyes quickly, trying to will it away. At that moment, my mobile rang. I reached over lazily to grab it from my bedside table. 

“Hey Ella, what’s up?” she said cheerily. 

“Isolde, it’s like six thirty here, piss off,” I answered rudely. 

“Oh, such the morning person... I thought I’d give you a call; I’m on my way to work. Got an important client to meet.” 

“Good for you,” 

“So, off to Eden. It looks nice.” 

“Of course it’ll look nice.... doesn’t mean I want to go there.” I wiped the sleep from my eyes as I spoke and sat up in bed. 

“Just wanted to say hello really.” 

“That’s ok.” 

“Did you get that stuff I sent you? I thought you would like it, and we're doing another collaboration so I have some new stuff to send to you, if you want it? Do you want me to send it to the school?” 

“Um, alright then.” That was the perk of having a sister who was a buyer for a department store. 

“Sure, I’ll send them when I get a chance.” 

“Thanks Izzie,” 

“No problem Ella. Now get your arse out of bed and go to school. Don’t forget, next holidays if you want there is always a job for you.” 

“Thanks, but not sure if your thing is my thing,” I replied honestly. Isolde had offered me a job almost every summer since I was about fourteen and a half and I had always turned her down. I could never work for my sister. 

“You’re one of the vainest girls I know, even for seventeen. It’s right up your alley. Anyway, enjoy your first day,” 

“Bye Izzie,” 

“Bye,” she hung up. I hated her always cheery yet cynical voice. I suppose I should be nice, Isolde always looked out for me. She had moved to Paris for university not long after we had moved back to Australia, and had stayed there even after completing her degree in journalism. She was convinced I would eventually come and work with her, but I didn’t see things the same way. 

I decided now to just get up. I slouched out of bed and looked for my clothes. Anne must have come back into my room last night because the blue jumper I requested was sitting on the edge of my couch in the corner of the room with a little note folded up on top of it. The note read “Smile Ella, you have a beautiful smile and I’m sure you’ll fit right in at the new school, Love always, Anne.” I laughed to myself – as if fitting in was something I was worried about. I grabbed the jumper and threw it on the top of my handbag. As if I’d needed it in this heat. I’m sure Anne had considered that when she brought it up. It was hot, so I grabbed a simple black summery dress with a short sleeved dark red cardigan. I loved black, I always believed it was the true city colour and I was proud to wear it. It fit in so well with the lifestyle here – the anonymity a big city brings. After getting ready, I walked towards an ornate jewellery box I kept on my dresser. It was a wooden antique I found on one of our many travels. I had bought it in Darjeeling in India. I fell instantly in love with it, and treated it like a family heirloom. I often hoped it would have some fascinating history, perhaps someone on Antique’s Road show could tell me, but I doubted it. I opened it up and caressed the items, carefully touching each one as if I was going to let the jewellery choose me. I didn’t like to take valuable items with me to boarding school, just in case you had a dorm full of people with ‘sticky fingers’ (as Gran would always say). As soon as I touched the little gold and red hourglass charm, I knew that was the one. It wasn’t particularly old, but was full of sentimental value. My Gran, (the other Evangeline, and even she hated her name. “Why are you calling your daughter Evangeline, David?” she’d asked Father, mortified. “Lillie’s mother has a much more sensible name,”) had bought it for me on her last trip to Italy, on an island called Sardinia. I’d been there once, and could easily see why it was her favourite holiday destination. The charm reminded me of her, and I’d put it on her favourite gold chain after she died. I put the necklace on and closed the box carefully. At that moment I sensed someone was in the room. Anne was standing there in the doorway. 

“I thought you weren’t coming with me, you left a note” I asked, slightly confused she was here. 

“And leave you all alone on your trip? I wrote the note because I wasn’t sure if you would listen to me so early in the morning. I know what both you and Will are like: certainly not morning people. I wanted to make sure you got the message. Isolde on the other hand, well she used to come and wake me up” Unlike me, Anne couldn’t fake her emotions, and she didn’t hide them so well either. Her eyes almost welled up. Nobody really ever made a fuss or got upset when I was leaving for school, but something about this school made them uncertain. I hadn’t asked to go to Eden College, and considering it was Will’s favourite, I was surprised my parents thought it was suitable. I remembered the night they told me I would be attending there. 

We were all sitting around the dinner table. Father insisted we eat together even if it meant waiting until nine pm for him to get off work. Mum, Father and I all sat around, staring straight ahead as we ate. Will was travelling around Greece at the time and refused to call in case Father answered the phone. They hadn’t been on speaking terms for the past few months and things weren’t looking promising for the future. 

“We enrolled you at Eden College for next year. Things weren’t going well at Imparo.” Father said whilst chewing another piece of broccoli. I hated the way my Father ate with his mouth partially open so everyone could see his teeth mashing the vegetables. 

“But I almost topped the entire year level?” It wasn’t really a question, more a reminder that things were going really well at my old school. I loved reading and writing and even maths wasn’t that challenging. I knew what he really meant though by promising. My parents were always worried because I was shy, because I couldn’t turn off this background noise. 

This is the beginning of where my story becomes a bit strange. I continually hear this ringing sound, the occasional whisper or sometimes even see an image as well. It never ever ends. I can’t turn it off, and it is worse around other people. To this day, no one has been able to figure out what is wrong with me. I only had one close friend, Emily, but we now lived in different countries which made socialising tricky. Emily was like me, quiet and shy, so our friendship worked so well. We didn’t need to talk non-stop, we could appreciate silence. Father still chewed loudly, his gnashing teeth were clearly audible considering I was sitting at the other end of the table. He didn’t stop chewing, but merely slowed it down when he turned to speak to me. 

“You’ll like it there Evangeline. It’s a gorgeous school.” He said waving his fork around dropping little crumbs from his chicken as he did so. 

“Even Will liked it,” Mum added, looking cautiously at Father as if she’d just given away a secret to the enemy. She smiled at me caringly but it was fake, I sensed she didn’t really want me to go. 

“But I don’t want to go.... it’s not even in this state for fucks sake. Why do you not just ask me what I want to do? Just once,” I pleaded, but let’s face it – it was a losing battle. My parents never backed down once a decision was made, well Father never backed down. 

“It’s all done sweetie, all booked and paid for. They have dorm rooms as well, so that’ll be nice; lots of other girls to gossip with throughout the night. That’s what you girls still do don’t you?” 

“Some of us,” I added indicating I was certainly not in that ‘some.’ 

“Honey, Emily left a long time ago, and you really don’t have any friends.” Mum had answered this time, and her words had had the desired effect. I didn’t have any friends but it didn’t really bother me; I had my books and my imagination. I guess from the outside, it did seem strange, but I didn’t really care. This is my life and I only wanted to please myself. Nevertheless, when mum said it like that, the words cut deeply. 

That was the only conversation we’d had about me moving schools. I had no say, and despite living away from home for so many years, travelling the world – I felt so inadequate and naive. I felt so utterly useless in the world, like I had no place. I grabbed my handbag, with the useless blue jumper on top and headed downstairs. I tiptoed past my parent’s room, hoping not to wake them but it was useless. They were already awake. I stopped, toying with the idea of heading inside to say goodbye, when I heard them discussing me. 

“David, I really don’t agree with this. You remember what happened with Will” Mum said, her tone was worrying, but I sensed she was holding back to an extent. 

“She’ll be fine.” 

“She’ll come home, different, just like Will. Remember what she did to him? Remember?” Mum pleaded with Father, but the memory was obviously painful because she didn’t even want to think it. It’s true what Mum was saying, Will was different when he returned. He refused to speak to Father ever again, and nothing Mum could say would make him visit us, let alone come home. As for ‘remember what she did to him’ I had no idea. Well, I say he changed but it’s difficult to quantify exactly what was different. He was confident, but quiet and angry. Brooding might be a better word. He only came home to collect a few things and then he was gone. He looked determined to escape. 

“She needs to get better honey. She needs friends and she needs to go out. There’s something odd about her. She knows things, things she shouldn’t. You’ve seen her. She takes after my mother.” Although I couldn’t see, Father shuddered at that thought. He loved his mother, that’s true, but she had always been a laid-back free spirit after Father had left and her husband (my grandfather) had died. Father didn’t always approve at the shenanigan’s she got up to despite them always being harmless. I assumed I knew what my father was referring to. It was the reason I had been placed on medication and had seen half the psychologists in Europe. I often complained of hearing things. They were never ordinary voices or like hearing another’s thoughts. What I heard was darker. I remembered one time hearing a woman fantasise about killing her husband and another two men thinking about raping an unsuspecting young girl on the train. I knew to some extent that these must be thoughts I had heard, but consciously I refused to accept that. It was more like being able to sense these things about people rather than hear it. One psychologist had called it a little gift that I must have, but I thought of it more as a burden. Of course, everyone put It down to stress or acting out for attention, and I was medicated into something just less than a coma. 

Mum and Father spoke about me about being socially withdrawn. The thing they didn’t understand is that I thoroughly enjoyed it. I liked being alone, I liked the quiet. 

I ignored the rest of their conversation and headed down the grand staircase in the centre of the house. I knew they were still talking about me, but I ignored it. Anne had gone onto the kitchen and was preparing me some toast. I didn’t have the heart to tell I wasn’t hungry. I wandered through the lounge room slowly making my way towards the kitchen. My favourite piece of furniture – well not furniture exactly, was kept in this room. I fingered the ivory keys of the grand rosewood piano, mimicking the notes to the last song I’d learnt that summer. I found the piano so relaxing, my escape. When playing, the sounds around me quietened. Clumsily I hit a few notes and the sounds echoed through the house. 

“Play Ella, if you want.” Mum said softly as she walked down the stairs, “We’re all awake, and it’s not like the neighbours will hear.” I sat properly at the piano stool, still looking towards her for permission. The piano had belonged to her grandmother, but only Isolde and I had ever have actually played it. It was an antique Steinway & Sons. Mum had had it valued but refused to tell us the amount, she said if we knew it would turn us off playing it... Mum loved it when we played, saying it reminded her of her childhood. Father said we would wear out the keys and lower the value, apparently ivory is too expensive and rare to replace, whatever. Mum now stood next to me, watching. I put my fingers on the keys and began playing. I loved playing classical music – it always seemed so intense, yet perfectly innocent at the same time. It also elicited a sentimental sadness in me. 

“Beautiful as always Ella,” Mum said softly after I struck the last note. 

“The neighbours are probably asleep,” Father said walking past us heading straight into the kitchen. 

“Don’t listen to him, you have a gift Ella,” Mum said patting me on the shoulder as she too followed into the kitchen. Slowly, I got up and joined them. “You should be taking music at school, but nevertheless I’m sure they have an orchestra or something that is dying for skilled hands like yours.” Mum said reaching out to hold my hands. 

“Here you are Ella” Anne announced as I walked into the kitchen, suddenly feeling very tired. It must’ve shown because she added: “Don’t sleep now, it´s a long train ride,” 

“Train ride? Will got to fly there every year – nice and simple 45 minute flight.” 

“Your parents said it would be easier considering most of the other children take the train and it goes directly to the school – no messing about with a taxi or anything.” Why did that not surprise me? A school that old, with that many students returning every year would surely need its own station. I decided then that I would need to eat some toast now. I hated long train’s rides. 

“Don’t worry, they assure me its fine, not too long, and I put some ginger tablets in your bag last night in case you feel queasy.” Again, Anne didn’t look at me. Instead she seems obsessed by a small stain on the counter. 

“You have your medication?” Anne asked still staring at the stain. I had been prescribed every type of anti-psychotic or anti-depressant possible since I was young. I was labelled anything and everything from autistic to schizophrenic. That proves the calibre of psychiatrists my parents used. Of course, I didn’t necessarily fall into any category. My illness, gift, talent, problem whatever you want to call it was a little different, and after so many years of being drugged I had decided to take a little break from my medication. I hadn’t taken any of my tablets for two weeks now. I was starting to feel the difference. It was returning. 

“Yeah, they’re in my bag,” 

“Aren’t you going to take some with breakfast?” Anne said looking up at me, 

“I think it’ll be right, I’ll take them after,” I lied badly, but somehow Anne didn’t press the matter. Maybe she had given up on me? Or maybe she suspected the same thing I did – the pills were useless. 

The television was on but no one was watching it. The kitchen television was perpetually playing the world news. Mum said she liked to know what was happening in the world considering we all lived in different areas. I sat down with my toast at the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. The story playing on the news changed and at first I sat there watching it, without taking anything in. Then something sparked inside me it looked familiar, crumbs went flying everywhere as I jumped up out of my chair. The newsreader continued, 

“At this point in time details are a little sketchy. It appears he collapsed just after four am this morning. The ambulance and police arrived promptly after and an investigation will begin shortly. For now, it appears the twenty-two year old model turned presenter will be spending the next few days in hospital. He is reported to have had what witnesses are calling a schizophrenic episode where he attacked a fellow colleague before collapsing. The colleague is in intensive care, and surgeons are currently trying to establish the exact cause of the wounds.” 

Anne, who had been clearing up in the kitchen, dropped the utensils she was carrying at the time. We had both read the caption at the bottom of the story, “Will Mason”.“Anne, how come no one called our house to tell us about Will? I mean, screw school book the next flight. Where is he? Mexico?”” I asked, I was sure my already pale face was as white as a sheet. ? Anne had already run upstairs to get Mum; I knew that despite not actually hearing her leave. I ran to the phone and started dialling when Father suddenly pulled the phone out of my hand. I had no idea he had come downstairs and wondered how long he could possibly have been there. 

“He’ll be fine” he said putting the cordless phone back in its charger. 

“Can’t I call him?” I yelled. 

“No, it’s a waste of time, money and effort. Besides, he changed his number a few months back and refuses to tell us what it is. He’ll be fine, and if he isn’t – it’s his own fault. Meddling with no good people...” Father trailed off as he stomped angrily out of the kitchen and into his study. I knew he didn’t want anything to happen to Will, but in his own mind, Will was already gone. I stopped fighting for the phone and sat back down staring blankly at the television screen – the screen that had made this morning into more of a nightmare. I got out my mobile and his re-dial to call Isolde. The phone was engaged. 

“Anne, get the car ready. You and Evangeline should leave now.” Father instructed as soon as Anne had walked into the room. She was holding Mum up by the arm. She waited until mum was seated to follow Father’s instructions. Mum didn’t even look at me, she stared straight ahead at the pictures on the screen, feeling exactly how I felt – worried. She had never looked so terrified before. I didn’t dare say anything. When Father was angry, all hell could break loose and it wouldn’t even compare to his response. 

I grabbed my bags and began to walk out of the door, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as I walked past. Mum still looked blank, clutching at her dressing gown for security. She saw the look of indifference on Father’s face. It didn’t ease her pain and I saw her body convulse with uncertainty. How could he be so heartless? 

“Goodbye sweetie” Mum muttered, she glanced over in my direction but still looked nervous and vague. “Be careful” she added. 

“I will Mum” I ran over and kissed her cheek. I didn’t even look at Father as I walked out of the room, still stunned by his utter callousness. I walked towards the car, not looking back and flung myself into the passenger’s side of the car. 

“Are you ready?” Anne asked before fastening her seatbelt. 

“Another year, another school” I added casually and with that, the car started and we were off to the station, still preoccupied by the mornings events. 

I lay across my bed kicking my feet in the air, looking at the perfectly packed red suitcase sitting motionless on the floor. I had packed that suitcase so many times before I could have done it blindfolded. I knew how to make everything fit, and although it sat there, looking perfect and full I felt like something was missing. I willed myself to get up and look for what I’d missed. I was never ever wrong when I had this feeling and knew I would find whatever it was easily. I checked under my bed to find a lonely black sock. I picked it up and added it to the assortment in the front pocket. 

Tomorrow I was off to yet another boarding school. I felt ambivalent when it came to boarding schools, mostly because I didn’t see the point. To say my family is well off is an understatement. I have had everything I could ever want, and I have never complained. Well, I say I have never complained...that’s not to say I haven’t whinged about anything – it’s only natural when you’re my age (apparently). My parents would buy me whatever it was that I wanted, or whatever they thought I should want at my age. As a kid, I had had dolls, dogs, cats and ponies, and when I got older they bought me phones, makeup, clothes, and laptops. Despite their so-called generosity, at the start of every year I would be sent to another school that my parents felt ‘would set me up for life.’ Although they claim to have my best interests in mind – when you live within walking distance of five very good private girl’s schools – you begin to wonder if your parents are simply trying to get rid of you. 

It was no secret that whenever my brother and I were gone our parents would be off enjoying their lives through extended ‘work conferences’ at ski lodges, or beach resorts. I guess we just have  those  parents. The ones who wanted children because they thought they should or because they wanted to parade us around for their friends. It’s probably a shame for them that we weren’t  those children. Well, my eldest sister maybe but she was so much older than me I barely knew her. I tried not to dwell on it. There was no point lamenting over what I couldn’t change. I fidgeted, twisting and turning over on my bed trying to get comfortable as I scrolled through Instagram. Overseas influencers rugged up in furs skiing made me sweat, I hated summer. Even now with the air-conditioner running I felt sweat drip down the back of my neck. I kicked my feet impatiently along the edge of my bed once more as I toyed with the idea of getting up for a drink. I really didn’t want to have to go downstairs. I could picture it now – mum would be sitting on the couch, drinking a gin and tonic. Our housekeeper Anne would most likely be in the kitchen cleaning out the cupboards before joining mum with her own gin and tonic before heading home whilst father would be in his study, muttering complaints to himself about various things in his company. 

My father is best described through his work. He is currently the CEO of Klimt’s Powders, a washing powder company completely separate from the rightly more famous artist Klimt. Father was very proud of his company and their products, but our Housekeeper never actually used them (not that he knew that). 

Instead, I walked over to the balcony of my room. It was a small rectangular perch that jutted out from my room, just enough for you to stand outside and feel the cool smoggy air. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke far out into the city. This was one of my guilty pleasures. I only enjoyed it in the sense that smoking had become such a social taboo, and no one knew I did it. It was something I did on my own, in complete secrecy. 

“Evangeline” father called from the down the corridor, I heard the door handle turn slowly. I threw the cigarette promptly over the edge of the balcony and blew the last ring of smoke before returning in doors and spraying perfume on my hands and neck. 

“How many times” I whined lying back down across my bed on my stomach. I hated my name. “Everyone else calls me Ella, can’t you?” It made me sound old, refined and  rich.  Where I had grown up, Brussels, Evangeline was a perfectly acceptable name considering its French origin. However, in an English speaking country appeared to have too many negative connotations. 

Father came in and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Forgetting for a moment that my father was a workaholic, he was a genuinely nice man and oddly still handsome despite his thinning grey hair. He had fought to keep in shape and even had a personal trainer come to his office three times a week. He was always awkward around me, his teenage daughter. He must have assumed I would grow up to be a devoted daughter like Isolde, but I just didn’t have that sort of personality. It didn’t help that deep down he had realised that both Will and I resented being sent away every year and treated as ‘disposable’, even if we never said it out loud. My father had never once apologised or explained his reasons to us but I knew that was just in his nature. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that sometimes he wanted to, that he felt he should. Isolde, my older sister, never understood our resentment even after admitting her upbringing had been completely different to ours. 

“No. I chose Evangeline because I like it and I intend to use it as much as possible.” His tone made it sound like I was a five year old in trouble, not a seventeen year old girl about to leave home yet again. “Besides, it was your grandmother’s name and considering she died using her name is the least you can do for her memory.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to show some sign of remorse. He had used this argument before, and it didn’t work. I can’t imagine how he thought it would. Gran had hated her name more than I did and she made no secret of it. “You need to get some sleep. I’ve told Anne to bring you some peppermint tea and to take your cases downstairs to the car.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to thank him. I felt no need to, Anne did all the work around the house, and knowing her – bringing me tea was probably her idea. After the silence grew to an uncomfortable level, he spoke again: “You know we want to come and drop you off ourselves, but...” he trailed off. Perhaps he was afraid at how the next part of the sentence made him sound like an inadequate parent. 

“It’s fine,” I said trying to sound sincere but all the while knowing that their trip could easily have been changed and that it had very little to do with actual business. I never understood that actually. Why rich businessmen needed to have meetings over lunch or discuss matters on a golf course. Nothing ever seemed to be resolved at those meetings, except who could flash their credit card the most. 

“I knew you’d understand honey,” he smiled haphazardly; I think this might have been his way to show he really did care. Either way, it was a little late now. I know I sound ungrateful after boasting that I have nothing to complain about. I am not ungrateful or hateful towards my family, just disappointed. “Now, we’re not going to have any more of this nonsense....I won’t be called to come down and....” he trailed off at the end because I knew exactly what he meant. It was an awkward family subject but one that we had faced many times before. 

“It’s not nonsense, I told you...” 

“Ella, you're better than this – you do not....it is absolutely absurd.” He shouted stamping his foot on the ground in frustration. The room fell silent once more. 

“I don’t what?” I said after what felt like the longest moment of silence possible. 

“Really? We're going to do this are we?” 

“Do what?” 

“You are so childish sometimes, you know that?” He retorted. I rolled my eyes, 

“Whatever.” 

“Evangeline, if you think I’ll go to your school – waste five hours of my time travelling to that school – just for this  problem  again,” 

“But I was right,” 

“But you don’t hear voices, no one does Evangeline...it’s....let’s say nothing more about it. When you’re older you will thank-me for drumming this stupid idea out of your head before it takes over any more of your life.” He sat down next to me now, “I mean it you have so much potential. Final year of school coming up and the marks are there, Eden College is an amazing school. You can get into any course you want, do whatever you want, just stop this nonsense and concentrate this year.” 

“Fine,” I said defeated. I found no point arguing any further with him. He turned around and walked up to the doorway. 

"Okay, now get some sleep.” I kept looking at that smile on Father’s face. It was a thinking smile – as if I could see what was going on inside his mind. He was worried he had lost his chance with both me and my brother. It was probably true. Will had left years ago and never called in case Father answered. I was slipping through his grip too. I looked deep into his eyes; they were sullen and sad but loving at the same time. I knew my parents loved me, and I knew at this moment that there was something more than the usual going on his mind. I stood still, and cleared my mind, still focusing on his smile. I sensed he really didn’t want me to go, like something would  change  if he let me go to this new school. I smiled back. 

“Don’t worry about me Father, really. How many schools have I been to now?” His face eased, no longer contorted with that motionless smile. I was good at calming people, or making them feel better. It was usually just a ruse; I rarely ever believed what I said. No matter how callous I may appear, I genuinely did care about hurting the feelings of others. 

“Goodnight” he stated simply and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I went into the en suite to brush my teeth. Usually I would get changed and then brush my teeth and wash my face. I was a creature of habit, but tonight, feeling isolated, unwanted and bored – I headed straight into my en suite. I stared into the mirror for a long time. My perfect black curls hung loosely around my shoulders and caressed my arms and back as I put a headband on and washed my face. I stared into my eyes, looking through them as if trying to discover who I really was. I don’t know why I continued to do this every night, it never worked. I had always wished that I had some answer, some insight into my existence. My eyes were a dark but clear green, with flecks of brown becoming obvious when the light hit them. I stared intently into them, but as usual, no answers came. I didn’t have some sudden insight into which I was, and figured that this would probably continue throughout my life – I would always go about being Evangeline Florence Mason, without ever understanding exactly who she is. It’s difficult to describe myself to a stranger, if that’s what you’re after. People are multi-faceted and complicated, how could a few sentences ever do that justice? I suppose I would start by saying, I am Evangeline Florence Mason, commonly referred to as ‘Ella.’ I love clean sheets, un-tucked beds and the smell of rain on a summer’s morning. I love the cold wintery winds and the smell of chips. How’s that for a brief introduction? I looked deeper into my eyes. I knew by looking at myself that I was beautiful. It sounds pretentious, but nevertheless true. My long black hair was thick and the curls sat perfectly: in rain, shine or humidity. I wasn’t particularly tall but everything was in proportion. My skin has always been pale despite how many exotic and sunny countries I went to in the summer, but it never looked awkward against my dark features. I stood there, in front of the mirror, for probably way too long. I tried to think of the strategies I would use at this new school. I didn’t like to be noticed as the ‘new’ girl, so I tried to think of a successful way to avoid too much interaction or attention. The uniform was boring – not that I’d seen it properly, except in a photo once, so at least there was that. I thought I would leave my hair down, so it would cover my face, but that could sometimes backfire. There are always the people who will introduce themselves or come closer, just to see what you’re hiding under your hair. I know they’re always disappointed when I don’t have a wart or a hooked nose. I heard Anne open the door and realised that I needed to finish getting ready before she knocked the door down to come in and find me. The last thing I needed was her to come in here worried about me. Anne had been around for as long as I could remember. She was hired to look after Will just before I was born to give mum a hand and then sort of just stayed on. She was a large boisterous woman; loud, opinionated and oblivious to most social cues. Will and I loved it though, she really kept our parents in line – stopped them getting too high on their own wealth and power. Will and I loved her like a mother – because she practically had been. Mum and I had a fantastic relationship though – when we were actually together - but it was different. Mum was never really warm or nurturing, like me I suppose. When mum and I were together we tended to just go shopping or go for a walk. We rarely had deep conversations like some people do with their mothers, but we did share a special connection. Anne on the other hand always looked out for Will (my brother) and I, and whilst she was around we were always well looked after, dressed and fed. Every year she leaves for three weeks to have her own holiday. These three weeks usually mean wearing unwashed clothes and eating take-away meals. Although Will and I could fend for ourselves (one of the pros of boarding schools, although I still can’t cook beyond cup-a-soup and the occasional roast) our mother is useless and although she knows it, she tries (for three weeks a year) to be the perfect housewife. As usual, she fails miserably and Will and I sneak into the guesthouse by the pool to use the kitchen and laundry. 

“Ella, you alright?” she yelled out. I turned off the tap after realising I’d left it running and walked calmly to the door, still drying my face with the towel. Anne was standing there carrying a tray. She walked in and put it on the dresser as I gathered my pyjamas and walked toward my en suite. Anne fussed around the dresser and started walking around my enormous bedroom fixing things, or at least pretending to fix things as she went. 

“Now, are you sure you’ve got everything? Your tea and a few biscuits are there – are hobnobs okay? I know you used to like them. I washed some of those others clothes last night – did you get them out of the laundry?” She said in one long enormous breath, all the time looking in the opposite direction utterly focused on tidying and fixing my already immaculate room. 

“Yes” I responded mindlessly, though in all honesty – I hadn’t bothered to check the laundry. “I wouldn’t mind that blue jumper though” I said without really knowing why. I didn’t really care about that blue jumper – I actually preferred my black one. I felt Anne really just wanted me to say something, anything. 

“I’ll fetch it” again, she spoke without glancing up in my direction. Finally I grabbed my blue and red pyjamas from under my pillow and started heading to the en suite door. 

“You’re so much quieter than your brother,” Anne laughed, her boisterous voice filling up the room. 

“So you keep saying, perhaps one day the two of us will get to see each other.” My voice was probably too sullen for her liking, but suited my mood – cold, morose and empty. Will and I had probably spent most of the last six years apart. He was also sent too many different boarding schools, although rarely ever the same ones. Even when we were at the same school, the boy’s area was always separate and the three-year gap between us didn’t help. Since leaving high school and refusing to go to Uni like my parents expected, Will had become a model and later a TV presenter. He was now working on his second film in Mexico about drug trade. I hadn’t seen his for almost three entire years. I envied his freedom and independence and wished more than anything that he would at least call me. I hated having to read second hand information on what my brother was working on. He refused to monitor his own social media, and employed a manager to run his Instagram, TikTok and Twitter. Occasionally he would respond to me online, but rarely. 

The day before school had always been Will and I’s day. We would start by having a late breakfast, usually by the pool and then spend the day teasing each other in the same brotherly-sisterly way most siblings did. He would usually tease me for being short or weak and I would usually kick him in the shins forcefully when I was sure neither Anne nor Mum could see. It didn’t help that the last time he left the house he had sworn to never return whilst my father was alive. 

“Smile Ella,” She said holding her arm out and sitting on my bed. I ignored her gesture, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me down to sit next to her. 

“I mean it, smile. Why are you so worried? Worried you’re going to miss your folks? Worried they might not be able to fend without you?” she laughed. Her laugh was infectious to all it seemed but me, especially tonight. 

“It’s late Anne, thanks for the tea. My suitcase is there, packed and ready to go. I’ll be downstairs early, I promise.” I grabbed my pyjamas and walked straight into the en suite to get changed. I sensed my actions had hurt Anne. She had been a good friend, and mother really, to both me and Will. However tonight whilst I was still contemplating how I should feel about being sent away yet again, I didn’t feel like being nice. 

I thought about home whilst I slept. Not the structure but the city – its ambience and vibe. Although I had moved around a lot as a child, I had always felt of this city as my home or my playground. Yes, I was born in this bustling city, but I had only lived here for two years before moving to Brussels. When I was thirteen, we moved back and aside from one boarding school in Belgium I had tried to remain as close to home as possible. Isolde once asked me to explain what it is that I love, but there isn’t even one thing; it’s a mixture of things. I loved the busyness, the authenticity of the streets; I loved the shopping and the cafes. I even loved the dreary, dull weather. But mostly, I loved the anonymity. Nobody cared who I was, and I didn’t care who they were. I could go by unnoticed. This was the most important feature to me. I didn’t like being noticed, because I was different. It wasn’t obvious from the outside, but people stayed away from me as if I exuded some strange energy. In the city, I was simply ignored. 

I was used to getting out of bed early, but these past few weeks sleep was a little hard to come by. I spent the entire night tossing and turning to the sound of air-conditioning. I thought about spending the next half hour in bed, hitting snooze again and again. I was still toying with the idea of catching some more sleep but as I closed my eyes, it was there. The vision that haunted me plagued me. I could see it so clearly, and I could feel the pain of my death. I opened my eyes quickly, trying to will it away. At that moment, my mobile rang. I reached over lazily to grab it from my bedside table. 

“Hey Ella, what’s up?” she said cheerily. 

“Isolde, it’s like six thirty here, piss off,” I answered rudely. 

“Oh, such the morning person... I thought I’d give you a call; I’m on my way to work. Got an important client to meet.” 

“Good for you,” 

“So, off to Eden. It looks nice.” 

“Of course it’ll look nice.... doesn’t mean I want to go there.” I wiped the sleep from my eyes as I spoke and sat up in bed. 

“Just wanted to say hello really.” 

“That’s ok.” 

“Did you get that stuff I sent you? I thought you would like it, and we're doing another collaboration so I have some new stuff to send to you, if you want it? Do you want me to send it to the school?” 

“Um, alright then.” That was the perk of having a sister who was a buyer for a department store. 

“Sure, I’ll send them when I get a chance.” 

“Thanks Izzie,” 

“No problem Ella. Now get your arse out of bed and go to school. Don’t forget, next holidays if you want there is always a job for you.” 

“Thanks, but not sure if your thing is my thing,” I replied honestly. Isolde had offered me a job almost every summer since I was about fourteen and a half and I had always turned her down. I could never work for my sister. 

“You’re one of the vainest girls I know, even for seventeen. It’s right up your alley. Anyway, enjoy your first day,” 

“Bye Izzie,” 

“Bye,” she hung up. I hated her always cheery yet cynical voice. I suppose I should be nice, Isolde always looked out for me. She had moved to Paris for university not long after we had moved back to Australia, and had stayed there even after completing her degree in journalism. She was convinced I would eventually come and work with her, but I didn’t see things the same way. 

I decided now to just get up. I slouched out of bed and looked for my clothes. Anne must have come back into my room last night because the blue jumper I requested was sitting on the edge of my couch in the corner of the room with a little note folded up on top of it. The note read “Smile Ella, you have a beautiful smile and I’m sure you’ll fit right in at the new school, Love always, Anne.” I laughed to myself – as if fitting in was something I was worried about. I grabbed the jumper and threw it on the top of my handbag. As if I’d needed it in this heat. I’m sure Anne had considered that when she brought it up. It was hot, so I grabbed a simple black summery dress with a short sleeved dark red cardigan. I loved black, I always believed it was the true city colour and I was proud to wear it. It fit in so well with the lifestyle here – the anonymity a big city brings. After getting ready, I walked towards an ornate jewellery box I kept on my dresser. It was a wooden antique I found on one of our many travels. I had bought it in Darjeeling in India. I fell instantly in love with it, and treated it like a family heirloom. I often hoped it would have some fascinating history, perhaps someone on Antique’s Road show could tell me, but I doubted it. I opened it up and caressed the items, carefully touching each one as if I was going to let the jewellery choose me. I didn’t like to take valuable items with me to boarding school, just in case you had a dorm full of people with ‘sticky fingers’ (as Gran would always say). As soon as I touched the little gold and red hourglass charm, I knew that was the one. It wasn’t particularly old, but was full of sentimental value. My Gran, (the other Evangeline, and even she hated her name. “Why are you calling your daughter Evangeline, David?” she’d asked Father, mortified. “Lillie’s mother has a much more sensible name,”) had bought it for me on her last trip to Italy, on an island called Sardinia. I’d been there once, and could easily see why it was her favourite holiday destination. The charm reminded me of her, and I’d put it on her favourite gold chain after she died. I put the necklace on and closed the box carefully. At that moment I sensed someone was in the room. Anne was standing there in the doorway. 

“I thought you weren’t coming with me, you left a note” I asked, slightly confused she was here. 

“And leave you all alone on your trip? I wrote the note because I wasn’t sure if you would listen to me so early in the morning. I know what both you and Will are like: certainly not morning people. I wanted to make sure you got the message. Isolde on the other hand, well she used to come and wake me up” Unlike me, Anne couldn’t fake her emotions, and she didn’t hide them so well either. Her eyes almost welled up. Nobody really ever made a fuss or got upset when I was leaving for school, but something about  this  school made them uncertain. I hadn’t asked to go to Eden College, and considering it was Will’s favourite, I was surprised my parents thought it was suitable. I remembered the night they told me I would be attending there. 

We were all sitting around the dinner table. Father insisted we eat together even if it meant waiting until nine pm for him to get off work. Mum, Father and I all sat around, staring straight ahead as we ate. Will was travelling around Greece at the time and refused to call in case Father answered the phone. They hadn’t been on speaking terms for the past few months and things weren’t looking promising for the future. 

“We enrolled you at Eden College for next year. Things weren’t going well at Imparo.” Father said whilst chewing another piece of broccoli. I hated the way my Father ate with his mouth partially open so everyone could see his teeth mashing the vegetables. 

“But I almost topped the entire year level?” It wasn’t really a question, more a reminder that things  were  going really well at my old school. I loved reading and writing and even maths wasn’t that challenging. I knew what he really meant though by promising. My parents were always worried because I was shy, because I couldn’t turn off this background noise. 

This is the beginning of where my story becomes a bit strange. I continually hear this ringing sound, the occasional whisper or sometimes even see an image as well. It never ever ends. I can’t turn it off, and it is worse around other people. To this day, no one has been able to figure out what is wrong with me. I only had one close friend, Emily, but we now lived in different countries which made socialising tricky. Emily was like me, quiet and shy, so our friendship worked so well. We didn’t need to talk non-stop, we could appreciate silence. Father still chewed loudly, his gnashing teeth were clearly audible considering I was sitting at the other end of the table. He didn’t stop chewing, but merely slowed it down when he turned to speak to me. 

“You’ll like it there Evangeline. It’s a gorgeous school.” He said waving his fork around dropping little crumbs from his chicken as he did so. 

“Even Will liked it,” Mum added, looking cautiously at Father as if she’d just given away a secret to the enemy. She smiled at me caringly but it was fake, I sensed she didn’t really want me to go. 

“But I don’t want to go.... it’s not even in this state for fucks sake. Why do you not just ask me what I want to do? Just once,” I pleaded, but let’s face it – it was a losing battle. My parents never backed down once a decision was made, well Father never backed down. 

“It’s all done sweetie, all booked and paid for. They have dorm rooms as well, so that’ll be nice; lots of other girls to gossip with throughout the night. That’s what you girls still do don’t you?” 

“Some of us,” I added indicating I was certainly not in that ‘some.’ 

“Honey, Emily left a long time ago, and you really don’t have any friends.” Mum had answered this time, and her words had had the desired effect. I didn’t have any friends but it didn’t really bother me; I had my books and my imagination. I guess from the outside, it did seem strange, but I didn’t really care. This is my life and I only wanted to please myself. Nevertheless, when mum said it like  that,  the words cut deeply. 

That was the only conversation we’d had about me moving schools. I had no say, and despite living away from home for so many years, travelling the world – I felt so inadequate and naive. I felt so utterly useless in the world, like I had no place. I grabbed my handbag, with the useless blue jumper on top and headed downstairs. I tiptoed past my parent’s room, hoping not to wake them but it was useless. They were already awake. I stopped, toying with the idea of heading inside to say goodbye, when I heard them discussing  me. 

“David, I really don’t agree with this. You remember what happened with Will” Mum said, her tone was worrying, but I sensed she was holding back to an extent. 

“She’ll be fine.” 

“She’ll come home,  different,  just like Will. Remember what she did to him? Remember?” Mum pleaded with Father, but the memory was obviously painful because she didn’t even want to think it. It’s true what Mum was saying, Will was different when he returned. He refused to speak to Father ever again, and nothing Mum could say would make him visit us, let alone come home. As for ‘remember what she did to him’ I had no idea. Well, I say he changed but it’s difficult to quantify exactly what was different. He was confident, but quiet and angry. Brooding might be a better word. He only came home to collect a few things and then he was gone. He looked determined to escape. 

“She needs to get better honey. She needs friends and she needs to go out. There’s something odd about her. She knows things, things she shouldn’t. You’ve seen her. She takes after my mother.” Although I couldn’t see, Father shuddered at that thought. He loved his mother, that’s true, but she had always been a laid-back free spirit after Father had left and her husband (my grandfather) had died. Father didn’t always approve at the shenanigan’s she got up to despite them always being harmless. I assumed I knew what my father was referring to. It was the reason I had been placed on medication and had seen half the psychologists in Europe. I often complained of hearing things. They were never ordinary voices or like hearing another’s thoughts. What I heard was darker.  I remembered one time hearing a woman fantasise about killing her husband and another two men thinking about raping an unsuspecting young girl on the train. I knew to some extent that these must be thoughts I had heard, but consciously I refused to accept that. It was more like being able to sense these things about people rather than hear it. One psychologist had called it a little gift that I must have, but I thought of it more as a burden. Of course, everyone put It down to stress or acting out for attention, and I was medicated into something just less than a coma. 

Mum and Father spoke about me about being socially withdrawn. The thing they didn’t understand is that I thoroughly enjoyed it. I liked being alone, I liked the quiet. 

I ignored the rest of their conversation and headed down the grand staircase in the centre of the house. I knew they were still talking about me, but I ignored it. Anne had gone onto the kitchen and was preparing me some toast. I didn’t have the heart to tell I wasn’t hungry. I wandered through the lounge room slowly making my way towards the kitchen. My favourite piece of furniture – well not furniture exactly, was kept in this room. I fingered the ivory keys of the grand rosewood piano, mimicking the notes to the last song I’d learnt that summer. I found the piano so relaxing, my escape. When playing, the sounds around me quietened. Clumsily I hit a few notes and the sounds echoed through the house. 

“Play Ella, if you want.” Mum said softly as she walked down the stairs, “We’re all awake, and it’s not like the neighbours will hear.” I sat properly at the piano stool, still looking towards her for permission. The piano had belonged to her grandmother, but only Isolde and I had ever have actually played it. It was an antique Steinway & Sons. Mum had had it valued but refused to tell us the amount, she said if we knew it would turn us off playing it... Mum loved it when we played, saying it reminded her of her childhood. Father said we would wear out the keys and lower the value, apparently ivory is too expensive and rare to replace,  whatever . Mum now stood next to me, watching. I put my fingers on the keys and began playing. I loved playing classical music – it always seemed so intense, yet perfectly innocent at the same time. It also elicited a sentimental sadness in me. 

“Beautiful as always Ella,” Mum said softly after I struck the last note. 

“The neighbours are probably asleep,” Father said walking past us heading straight into the kitchen. 

“Don’t listen to him, you have a gift Ella,” Mum said patting me on the shoulder as she too followed into the kitchen. Slowly, I got up and joined them. “You should be taking music at school, but nevertheless I’m sure they have an orchestra or something that is dying for skilled hands like yours.” Mum said reaching out to hold my hands. 

“Here you are Ella” Anne announced as I walked into the kitchen, suddenly feeling very tired. It must’ve shown because she added: “Don’t sleep now, it´s a long train ride,” 

“Train ride? Will got to fly there every year – nice and simple 45 minute flight.” 

“Your parents said it would be easier considering most of the other children take the train and it goes directly to the school – no messing about with a taxi or anything.” Why did that not surprise me? A school that old, with that many students returning every year would surely need its own station. I decided then that I would need to eat some toast now. I hated long train’s rides. 

“Don’t worry, they assure me its fine, not too long, and I put some ginger tablets in your bag last night in case you feel queasy.” Again, Anne didn’t look at me. Instead she seems obsessed by a small stain on the counter. 

“You have your medication?” Anne asked still staring at the stain. I had been prescribed every type of anti-psychotic or anti-depressant possible since I was young. I was labelled anything and everything from autistic to schizophrenic. That proves the calibre of psychiatrists my parents used. Of course, I didn’t necessarily fall into any category. My illness, gift, talent, problem whatever you want to call it was a little different, and after so many years of being drugged I had decided to take a little break from my medication. I hadn’t taken any of my tablets for two weeks now. I was starting to feel the difference.  It  was returning. 

“Yeah, they’re in my bag,” 

“Aren’t you going to take some with breakfast?” Anne said looking up at me, 

“I think it’ll be right, I’ll take them after,” I lied badly, but somehow Anne didn’t press the matter. Maybe she had given up on me? Or maybe she suspected the same thing I did – the pills were useless. 

The television was on but no one was watching it. The kitchen television was perpetually playing the world news. Mum said she liked to know what was happening in the world considering we all lived in different areas. I sat down with my toast at the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. The story playing on the news changed and at first I sat there watching it, without taking anything in. Then something sparked inside me it looked familiar, crumbs went flying everywhere as I jumped up out of my chair. The newsreader continued, 

“At this point in time details are a little sketchy. It appears he collapsed just after four am this morning. The ambulance and police arrived promptly after and an investigation will begin shortly. For now, it appears the twenty-two year old model turned presenter will be spending the next few days in hospital. He is reported to have had what witnesses are calling a schizophrenic episode where he attacked a fellow colleague before collapsing. The colleague is in intensive care, and surgeons are currently trying to establish the exact cause of the wounds.” 

Anne, who had been clearing up in the kitchen, dropped the utensils she was carrying at the time. We had both read the caption at the bottom of the story, “Will Mason”.“Anne, how come no one called our house to tell us about Will? I mean, screw school book the next flight. Where is he? Mexico?”” I asked, I was sure my already pale face was as white as a sheet.  ?  Anne had already run upstairs to get Mum; I knew that despite not actually hearing her leave. I ran to the phone and started dialling when Father suddenly pulled the phone out of my hand. I had no idea he had come downstairs and wondered how long he could possibly have been there. 

“He’ll be fine” he said putting the cordless phone back in its charger. 

“Can’t I call him?” I yelled. 

“No, it’s a waste of time, money and effort. Besides, he changed his number a few months back and refuses to tell us what it is. He’ll be fine, and if he isn’t – it’s his own fault. Meddling with no good people...” Father trailed off as he stomped angrily out of the kitchen and into his study. I knew he didn’t want anything to happen to Will, but in his own mind, Will was already gone. I stopped fighting for the phone and sat back down staring blankly at the television screen – the screen that had made this morning into more of a nightmare. I got out my mobile and his re-dial to call Isolde. The phone was engaged. 

“Anne, get the car ready. You and Evangeline should leave now.” Father instructed as soon as Anne had walked into the room. She was holding Mum up by the arm. She waited until mum was seated to follow Father’s instructions. Mum didn’t even look at me, she stared straight ahead at the pictures on the screen, feeling exactly how I felt – worried. She had never looked so terrified before. I didn’t dare say anything. When Father was angry, all hell could break loose and it wouldn’t even compare to his response. 

I grabbed my bags and began to walk out of the door, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as I walked past. Mum still looked blank, clutching at her dressing gown for security. She saw the look of indifference on Father’s face. It didn’t ease her pain and I saw her body convulse with uncertainty. How could he be so heartless? 

“Goodbye sweetie” Mum muttered, she glanced over in my direction but still looked nervous and vague. “Be careful” she added. 

“I will Mum” I ran over and kissed her cheek. I didn’t even look at Father as I walked out of the room, still stunned by his utter callousness. I walked towards the car, not looking back and flung myself into the passenger’s side of the car. 

“Are you ready?” Anne asked before fastening her seatbelt. 

“Another year, another school” I added casually and with that, the car started and we were off to the station, still preoccupied by the mornings events. 

my feet in the air, looking at the perfectly packed red suitcase sitting motionless on the floor. I had packed that suitcase so many times before I could have done it blindfolded. I knew how to make everything fit, and although it sat there, looking perfect and full I felt like something was missing. I willed myself to get up and look for what I’d missed. I was never ever wrong when I had this feeling and knew I would find whatever it was easily. I checked under my bed to find a lonely black sock. I picked it up and added it to the assortment in the front pocket. 

Tomorrow I was off to yet another boarding school. I felt ambivalent when it came to boarding schools, mostly because I didn’t see the point. To say my family is well off is an understatement. I have had everything I could ever want, and I have never complained. Well, I say I have never complained...that’s not to say I haven’t whinged about anything – it’s only natural when you’re my age (apparently). My parents would buy me whatever it was that I wanted, or whatever they thought I should want at my age. As a kid, I had had dolls, dogs, cats and ponies, and when I got older they bought me phones, makeup, clothes, and laptops. Despite their so-called generosity, at the start of every year I would be sent to another school that my parents felt ‘would set me up for life.’ Although they claim to have my best interests in mind – when you live within walking distance of five very good private girl’s schools – you begin to wonder if your parents are simply trying to get rid of you. 

It was no secret that whenever my brother and I were gone our parents would be off enjoying their lives through extended ‘work conferences’ at ski lodges, or beach resorts. I guess we just have  those  parents. The ones who wanted children because they thought they should or because they wanted to parade us around for their friends. It’s probably a shame for them that we weren’t  those children. Well, my eldest sister maybe but she was so much older than me I barely knew her. I tried not to dwell on it. There was no point lamenting over what I couldn’t change. I fidgeted, twisting and turning over on my bed trying to get comfortable as I scrolled through Instagram. Overseas influencers rugged up in furs skiing made me sweat, I hated summer. Even now with the air-conditioner running I felt sweat drip down the back of my neck. I kicked my feet impatiently along the edge of my bed once more as I toyed with the idea of getting up for a drink. I really didn’t want to have to go downstairs. I could picture it now – mum would be sitting on the couch, drinking a gin and tonic. Our housekeeper Anne would most likely be in the kitchen cleaning out the cupboards before joining mum with her own gin and tonic before heading home whilst father would be in his study, muttering complaints to himself about various things in his company. 

My father is best described through his work. He is currently the CEO of Klimt’s Powders, a washing powder company completely separate from the rightly more famous artist Klimt. Father was very proud of his company and their products, but our Housekeeper never actually used them (not that he knew that). 

Instead, I walked over to the balcony of my room. It was a small rectangular perch that jutted out from my room, just enough for you to stand outside and feel the cool smoggy air. I lit a cigarette and blew the smoke far out into the city. This was one of my guilty pleasures. I only enjoyed it in the sense that smoking had become such a social taboo, and no one knew I did it. It was something I did on my own, in complete secrecy. 

“Evangeline” father called from the down the corridor, I heard the door handle turn slowly. I threw the cigarette promptly over the edge of the balcony and blew the last ring of smoke before returning in doors and spraying perfume on my hands and neck. 

“How many times” I whined lying back down across my bed on my stomach. I hated my name. “Everyone else calls me Ella, can’t you?” It made me sound old, refined and  rich.  Where I had grown up, Brussels, Evangeline was a perfectly acceptable name considering its French origin. However, in an English speaking country appeared to have too many negative connotations. 

Father came in and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Forgetting for a moment that my father was a workaholic, he was a genuinely nice man and oddly still handsome despite his thinning grey hair. He had fought to keep in shape and even had a personal trainer come to his office three times a week. He was always awkward around me, his teenage daughter. He must have assumed I would grow up to be a devoted daughter like Isolde, but I just didn’t have that sort of personality. It didn’t help that deep down he had realised that both Will and I resented being sent away every year and treated as ‘disposable’, even if we never said it out loud. My father had never once apologised or explained his reasons to us but I knew that was just in his nature. Still, I couldn’t help thinking that sometimes he wanted to, that he felt he should. Isolde, my older sister, never understood our resentment even after admitting her upbringing had been completely different to ours. 

“No. I chose Evangeline because I like it and I intend to use it as much as possible.” His tone made it sound like I was a five year old in trouble, not a seventeen year old girl about to leave home yet again. “Besides, it was your grandmother’s name and considering she died using her name is the least you can do for her memory.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to show some sign of remorse. He had used this argument before, and it didn’t work. I can’t imagine how he thought it would. Gran had hated her name more than I did and she made no secret of it. “You need to get some sleep. I’ve told Anne to bring you some peppermint tea and to take your cases downstairs to the car.” He paused, perhaps waiting for me to thank him. I felt no need to, Anne did all the work around the house, and knowing her – bringing me tea was probably her idea. After the silence grew to an uncomfortable level, he spoke again: “You know we want to come and drop you off ourselves, but...” he trailed off. Perhaps he was afraid at how the next part of the sentence made him sound like an inadequate parent. 

“It’s fine,” I said trying to sound sincere but all the while knowing that their trip could easily have been changed and that it had very little to do with actual business. I never understood that actually. Why rich businessmen needed to have meetings over lunch or discuss matters on a golf course. Nothing ever seemed to be resolved at those meetings, except who could flash their credit card the most. 

“I knew you’d understand honey,” he smiled haphazardly; I think this might have been his way to show he really did care. Either way, it was a little late now. I know I sound ungrateful after boasting that I have nothing to complain about. I am not ungrateful or hateful towards my family, just disappointed. “Now, we’re not going to have any more of this nonsense....I won’t be called to come down and....” he trailed off at the end because I knew exactly what he meant. It was an awkward family subject but one that we had faced many times before. 

“It’s not nonsense, I told you...” 

“Ella, you're better than this – you do not....it is absolutely absurd.” He shouted stamping his foot on the ground in frustration. The room fell silent once more. 

“I don’t what?” I said after what felt like the longest moment of silence possible. 

“Really? We're going to do this are we?” 

“Do what?” 

“You are so childish sometimes, you know that?” He retorted. I rolled my eyes, 

“Whatever.” 

“Evangeline, if you think I’ll go to your school – waste five hours of my time travelling to that school – just for this  problem  again,” 

“But I was right,” 

“But you don’t hear voices, no one does Evangeline...it’s....let’s say nothing more about it. When you’re older you will thank-me for drumming this stupid idea out of your head before it takes over any more of your life.” He sat down next to me now, “I mean it you have so much potential. Final year of school coming up and the marks are there, Eden College is an amazing school. You can get into any course you want, do whatever you want, just stop this nonsense and concentrate this year.” 

“Fine,” I said defeated. I found no point arguing any further with him. He turned around and walked up to the doorway. 

"Okay, now get some sleep.” I kept looking at that smile on Father’s face. It was a thinking smile – as if I could see what was going on inside his mind. He was worried he had lost his chance with both me and my brother. It was probably true. Will had left years ago and never called in case Father answered. I was slipping through his grip too. I looked deep into his eyes; they were sullen and sad but loving at the same time. I knew my parents loved me, and I knew at this moment that there was something more than the usual going on his mind. I stood still, and cleared my mind, still focusing on his smile. I sensed he really didn’t want me to go, like something would  change  if he let me go to this new school. I smiled back. 

“Don’t worry about me Father, really. How many schools have I been to now?” His face eased, no longer contorted with that motionless smile. I was good at calming people, or making them feel better. It was usually just a ruse; I rarely ever believed what I said. No matter how callous I may appear, I genuinely did care about hurting the feelings of others. 

“Goodnight” he stated simply and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. I went into the en suite to brush my teeth. Usually I would get changed and then brush my teeth and wash my face. I was a creature of habit, but tonight, feeling isolated, unwanted and bored – I headed straight into my en suite. I stared into the mirror for a long time. My perfect black curls hung loosely around my shoulders and caressed my arms and back as I put a headband on and washed my face. I stared into my eyes, looking through them as if trying to discover who I really was. I don’t know why I continued to do this every night, it never worked. I had always wished that I had some answer, some insight into my existence. My eyes were a dark but clear green, with flecks of brown becoming obvious when the light hit them. I stared intently into them, but as usual, no answers came. I didn’t have some sudden insight into which I was, and figured that this would probably continue throughout my life – I would always go about being Evangeline Florence Mason, without ever understanding exactly who she is. It’s difficult to describe myself to a stranger, if that’s what you’re after. People are multi-faceted and complicated, how could a few sentences ever do that justice? I suppose I would start by saying, I am Evangeline Florence Mason, commonly referred to as ‘Ella.’ I love clean sheets, un-tucked beds and the smell of rain on a summer’s morning. I love the cold wintery winds and the smell of chips. How’s that for a brief introduction? I looked deeper into my eyes. I knew by looking at myself that I was beautiful. It sounds pretentious, but nevertheless true. My long black hair was thick and the curls sat perfectly: in rain, shine or humidity. I wasn’t particularly tall but everything was in proportion. My skin has always been pale despite how many exotic and sunny countries I went to in the summer, but it never looked awkward against my dark features. I stood there, in front of the mirror, for probably way too long. I tried to think of the strategies I would use at this new school. I didn’t like to be noticed as the ‘new’ girl, so I tried to think of a successful way to avoid too much interaction or attention. The uniform was boring – not that I’d seen it properly, except in a photo once, so at least there was that. I thought I would leave my hair down, so it would cover my face, but that could sometimes backfire. There are always the people who will introduce themselves or come closer, just to see what you’re hiding under your hair. I know they’re always disappointed when I don’t have a wart or a hooked nose. I heard Anne open the door and realised that I needed to finish getting ready before she knocked the door down to come in and find me. The last thing I needed was her to come in here worried about me. Anne had been around for as long as I could remember. She was hired to look after Will just before I was born to give mum a hand and then sort of just stayed on. She was a large boisterous woman; loud, opinionated and oblivious to most social cues. Will and I loved it though, she really kept our parents in line – stopped them getting too high on their own wealth and power. Will and I loved her like a mother – because she practically had been. Mum and I had a fantastic relationship though – when we were actually together - but it was different. Mum was never really warm or nurturing, like me I suppose. When mum and I were together we tended to just go shopping or go for a walk. We rarely had deep conversations like some people do with their mothers, but we did share a special connection. Anne on the other hand always looked out for Will (my brother) and I, and whilst she was around we were always well looked after, dressed and fed. Every year she leaves for three weeks to have her own holiday. These three weeks usually mean wearing unwashed clothes and eating take-away meals. Although Will and I could fend for ourselves (one of the pros of boarding schools, although I still can’t cook beyond cup-a-soup and the occasional roast) our mother is useless and although she knows it, she tries (for three weeks a year) to be the perfect housewife. As usual, she fails miserably and Will and I sneak into the guesthouse by the pool to use the kitchen and laundry. 

“Ella, you alright?” she yelled out. I turned off the tap after realising I’d left it running and walked calmly to the door, still drying my face with the towel. Anne was standing there carrying a tray. She walked in and put it on the dresser as I gathered my pyjamas and walked toward my en suite. Anne fussed around the dresser and started walking around my enormous bedroom fixing things, or at least pretending to fix things as she went. 

“Now, are you sure you’ve got everything? Your tea and a few biscuits are there – are hobnobs okay? I know you used to like them. I washed some of those others clothes last night – did you get them out of the laundry?” She said in one long enormous breath, all the time looking in the opposite direction utterly focused on tidying and fixing my already immaculate room. 

“Yes” I responded mindlessly, though in all honesty – I hadn’t bothered to check the laundry. “I wouldn’t mind that blue jumper though” I said without really knowing why. I didn’t really care about that blue jumper – I actually preferred my black one. I felt Anne really just wanted me to say something, anything. 

“I’ll fetch it” again, she spoke without glancing up in my direction. Finally I grabbed my blue and red pyjamas from under my pillow and started heading to the en suite door. 

“You’re so much quieter than your brother,” Anne laughed, her boisterous voice filling up the room. 

“So you keep saying, perhaps one day the two of us will get to see each other.” My voice was probably too sullen for her liking, but suited my mood – cold, morose and empty. Will and I had probably spent most of the last six years apart. He was also sent too many different boarding schools, although rarely ever the same ones. Even when we were at the same school, the boy’s area was always separate and the three-year gap between us didn’t help. Since leaving high school and refusing to go to Uni like my parents expected, Will had become a model and later a TV presenter. He was now working on his second film in Mexico about drug trade. I hadn’t seen his for almost three entire years. I envied his freedom and independence and wished more than anything that he would at least call me. I hated having to read second hand information on what my brother was working on. He refused to monitor his own social media, and employed a manager to run his Instagram, TikTok and Twitter. Occasionally he would respond to me online, but rarely. 

The day before school had always been Will and I’s day. We would start by having a late breakfast, usually by the pool and then spend the day teasing each other in the same brotherly-sisterly way most siblings did. He would usually tease me for being short or weak and I would usually kick him in the shins forcefully when I was sure neither Anne nor Mum could see. It didn’t help that the last time he left the house he had sworn to never return whilst my father was alive. 

“Smile Ella,” She said holding her arm out and sitting on my bed. I ignored her gesture, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me down to sit next to her. 

“I mean it, smile. Why are you so worried? Worried you’re going to miss your folks? Worried they might not be able to fend without you?” she laughed. Her laugh was infectious to all it seemed but me, especially tonight. 

“It’s late Anne, thanks for the tea. My suitcase is there, packed and ready to go. I’ll be downstairs early, I promise.” I grabbed my pyjamas and walked straight into the en suite to get changed. I sensed my actions had hurt Anne. She had been a good friend, and mother really, to both me and Will. However tonight whilst I was still contemplating how I should feel about being sent away yet again, I didn’t feel like being nice. 

I thought about home whilst I slept. Not the structure but the city – its ambience and vibe. Although I had moved around a lot as a child, I had always felt of this city as my home or my playground. Yes, I was born in this bustling city, but I had only lived here for two years before moving to Brussels. When I was thirteen, we moved back and aside from one boarding school in Belgium I had tried to remain as close to home as possible. Isolde once asked me to explain what it is that I love, but there isn’t even one thing; it’s a mixture of things. I loved the busyness, the authenticity of the streets; I loved the shopping and the cafes. I even loved the dreary, dull weather. But mostly, I loved the anonymity. Nobody cared who I was, and I didn’t care who they were. I could go by unnoticed. This was the most important feature to me. I didn’t like being noticed, because I was different. It wasn’t obvious from the outside, but people stayed away from me as if I exuded some strange energy. In the city, I was simply ignored. 

I was used to getting out of bed early, but these past few weeks sleep was a little hard to come by. I spent the entire night tossing and turning to the sound of air-conditioning. I thought about spending the next half hour in bed, hitting snooze again and again. I was still toying with the idea of catching some more sleep but as I closed my eyes, it was there. The vision that haunted me plagued me. I could see it so clearly, and I could feel the pain of my death. I opened my eyes quickly, trying to will it away. At that moment, my mobile rang. I reached over lazily to grab it from my bedside table. 

“Hey Ella, what’s up?” she said cheerily. 

“Isolde, it’s like six thirty here, piss off,” I answered rudely. 

“Oh, such the morning person... I thought I’d give you a call; I’m on my way to work. Got an important client to meet.” 

“Good for you,” 

“So, off to Eden. It looks nice.” 

“Of course it’ll look nice.... doesn’t mean I want to go there.” I wiped the sleep from my eyes as I spoke and sat up in bed. 

“Just wanted to say hello really.” 

“That’s ok.” 

“Did you get that stuff I sent you? I thought you would like it, and we're doing another collaboration so I have some new stuff to send to you, if you want it? Do you want me to send it to the school?” 

“Um, alright then.” That was the perk of having a sister who was a buyer for a department store. 

“Sure, I’ll send them when I get a chance.” 

“Thanks Izzie,” 

“No problem Ella. Now get your arse out of bed and go to school. Don’t forget, next holidays if you want there is always a job for you.” 

“Thanks, but not sure if your thing is my thing,” I replied honestly. Isolde had offered me a job almost every summer since I was about fourteen and a half and I had always turned her down. I could never work for my sister. 

“You’re one of the vainest girls I know, even for seventeen. It’s right up your alley. Anyway, enjoy your first day,” 

“Bye Izzie,” 

“Bye,” she hung up. I hated her always cheery yet cynical voice. I suppose I should be nice, Isolde always looked out for me. She had moved to Paris for university not long after we had moved back to Australia, and had stayed there even after completing her degree in journalism. She was convinced I would eventually come and work with her, but I didn’t see things the same way. 

I decided now to just get up. I slouched out of bed and looked for my clothes. Anne must have come back into my room last night because the blue jumper I requested was sitting on the edge of my couch in the corner of the room with a little note folded up on top of it. The note read “Smile Ella, you have a beautiful smile and I’m sure you’ll fit right in at the new school, Love always, Anne.” I laughed to myself – as if fitting in was something I was worried about. I grabbed the jumper and threw it on the top of my handbag. As if I’d needed it in this heat. I’m sure Anne had considered that when she brought it up. It was hot, so I grabbed a simple black summery dress with a short sleeved dark red cardigan. I loved black, I always believed it was the true city colour and I was proud to wear it. It fit in so well with the lifestyle here – the anonymity a big city brings. After getting ready, I walked towards an ornate jewellery box I kept on my dresser. It was a wooden antique I found on one of our many travels. I had bought it in Darjeeling in India. I fell instantly in love with it, and treated it like a family heirloom. I often hoped it would have some fascinating history, perhaps someone on Antique’s Road show could tell me, but I doubted it. I opened it up and caressed the items, carefully touching each one as if I was going to let the jewellery choose me. I didn’t like to take valuable items with me to boarding school, just in case you had a dorm full of people with ‘sticky fingers’ (as Gran would always say). As soon as I touched the little gold and red hourglass charm, I knew that was the one. It wasn’t particularly old, but was full of sentimental value. My Gran, (the other Evangeline, and even she hated her name. “Why are you calling your daughter Evangeline, David?” she’d asked Father, mortified. “Lillie’s mother has a much more sensible name,”) had bought it for me on her last trip to Italy, on an island called Sardinia. I’d been there once, and could easily see why it was her favourite holiday destination. The charm reminded me of her, and I’d put it on her favourite gold chain after she died. I put the necklace on and closed the box carefully. At that moment I sensed someone was in the room. Anne was standing there in the doorway. 

“I thought you weren’t coming with me, you left a note” I asked, slightly confused she was here. 

“And leave you all alone on your trip? I wrote the note because I wasn’t sure if you would listen to me so early in the morning. I know what both you and Will are like: certainly not morning people. I wanted to make sure you got the message. Isolde on the other hand, well she used to come and wake me up” Unlike me, Anne couldn’t fake her emotions, and she didn’t hide them so well either. Her eyes almost welled up. Nobody really ever made a fuss or got upset when I was leaving for school, but something about  this  school made them uncertain. I hadn’t asked to go to Eden College, and considering it was Will’s favourite, I was surprised my parents thought it was suitable. I remembered the night they told me I would be attending there. 

We were all sitting around the dinner table. Father insisted we eat together even if it meant waiting until nine pm for him to get off work. Mum, Father and I all sat around, staring straight ahead as we ate. Will was travelling around Greece at the time and refused to call in case Father answered the phone. They hadn’t been on speaking terms for the past few months and things weren’t looking promising for the future. 

“We enrolled you at Eden College for next year. Things weren’t going well at Imparo.” Father said whilst chewing another piece of broccoli. I hated the way my Father ate with his mouth partially open so everyone could see his teeth mashing the vegetables. 

“But I almost topped the entire year level?” It wasn’t really a question, more a reminder that things  were  going really well at my old school. I loved reading and writing and even maths wasn’t that challenging. I knew what he really meant though by promising. My parents were always worried because I was shy, because I couldn’t turn off this background noise. 

This is the beginning of where my story becomes a bit strange. I continually hear this ringing sound, the occasional whisper or sometimes even see an image as well. It never ever ends. I can’t turn it off, and it is worse around other people. To this day, no one has been able to figure out what is wrong with me. I only had one close friend, Emily, but we now lived in different countries which made socialising tricky. Emily was like me, quiet and shy, so our friendship worked so well. We didn’t need to talk non-stop, we could appreciate silence. Father still chewed loudly, his gnashing teeth were clearly audible considering I was sitting at the other end of the table. He didn’t stop chewing, but merely slowed it down when he turned to speak to me. 

“You’ll like it there Evangeline. It’s a gorgeous school.” He said waving his fork around dropping little crumbs from his chicken as he did so. 

“Even Will liked it,” Mum added, looking cautiously at Father as if she’d just given away a secret to the enemy. She smiled at me caringly but it was fake, I sensed she didn’t really want me to go. 

“But I don’t want to go.... it’s not even in this state for fucks sake. Why do you not just ask me what I want to do? Just once,” I pleaded, but let’s face it – it was a losing battle. My parents never backed down once a decision was made, well Father never backed down. 

“It’s all done sweetie, all booked and paid for. They have dorm rooms as well, so that’ll be nice; lots of other girls to gossip with throughout the night. That’s what you girls still do don’t you?” 

“Some of us,” I added indicating I was certainly not in that ‘some.’ 

“Honey, Emily left a long time ago, and you really don’t have any friends.” Mum had answered this time, and her words had had the desired effect. I didn’t have any friends but it didn’t really bother me; I had my books and my imagination. I guess from the outside, it did seem strange, but I didn’t really care. This is my life and I only wanted to please myself. Nevertheless, when mum said it like  that,  the words cut deeply. 

That was the only conversation we’d had about me moving schools. I had no say, and despite living away from home for so many years, travelling the world – I felt so inadequate and naive. I felt so utterly useless in the world, like I had no place. I grabbed my handbag, with the useless blue jumper on top and headed downstairs. I tiptoed past my parent’s room, hoping not to wake them but it was useless. They were already awake. I stopped, toying with the idea of heading inside to say goodbye, when I heard them discussing  me. 

“David, I really don’t agree with this. You remember what happened with Will” Mum said, her tone was worrying, but I sensed she was holding back to an extent. 

“She’ll be fine.” 

“She’ll come home,  different,  just like Will. Remember what she did to him? Remember?” Mum pleaded with Father, but the memory was obviously painful because she didn’t even want to think it. It’s true what Mum was saying, Will was different when he returned. He refused to speak to Father ever again, and nothing Mum could say would make him visit us, let alone come home. As for ‘remember what she did to him’ I had no idea. Well, I say he changed but it’s difficult to quantify exactly what was different. He was confident, but quiet and angry. Brooding might be a better word. He only came home to collect a few things and then he was gone. He looked determined to escape. 

“She needs to get better honey. She needs friends and she needs to go out. There’s something odd about her. She knows things, things she shouldn’t. You’ve seen her. She takes after my mother.” Although I couldn’t see, Father shuddered at that thought. He loved his mother, that’s true, but she had always been a laid-back free spirit after Father had left and her husband (my grandfather) had died. Father didn’t always approve at the shenanigan’s she got up to despite them always being harmless. I assumed I knew what my father was referring to. It was the reason I had been placed on medication and had seen half the psychologists in Europe. I often complained of hearing things. They were never ordinary voices or like hearing another’s thoughts. What I heard was darker.  I remembered one time hearing a woman fantasise about killing her husband and another two men thinking about raping an unsuspecting young girl on the train. I knew to some extent that these must be thoughts I had heard, but consciously I refused to accept that. It was more like being able to sense these things about people rather than hear it. One psychologist had called it a little gift that I must have, but I thought of it more as a burden. Of course, everyone put It down to stress or acting out for attention, and I was medicated into something just less than a coma. 

Mum and Father spoke about me about being socially withdrawn. The thing they didn’t understand is that I thoroughly enjoyed it. I liked being alone, I liked the quiet. 

I ignored the rest of their conversation and headed down the grand staircase in the centre of the house. I knew they were still talking about me, but I ignored it. Anne had gone onto the kitchen and was preparing me some toast. I didn’t have the heart to tell I wasn’t hungry. I wandered through the lounge room slowly making my way towards the kitchen. My favourite piece of furniture – well not furniture exactly, was kept in this room. I fingered the ivory keys of the grand rosewood piano, mimicking the notes to the last song I’d learnt that summer. I found the piano so relaxing, my escape. When playing, the sounds around me quietened. Clumsily I hit a few notes and the sounds echoed through the house. 

“Play Ella, if you want.” Mum said softly as she walked down the stairs, “We’re all awake, and it’s not like the neighbours will hear.” I sat properly at the piano stool, still looking towards her for permission. The piano had belonged to her grandmother, but only Isolde and I had ever have actually played it. It was an antique Steinway & Sons. Mum had had it valued but refused to tell us the amount, she said if we knew it would turn us off playing it... Mum loved it when we played, saying it reminded her of her childhood. Father said we would wear out the keys and lower the value, apparently ivory is too expensive and rare to replace,  whatever . Mum now stood next to me, watching. I put my fingers on the keys and began playing. I loved playing classical music – it always seemed so intense, yet perfectly innocent at the same time. It also elicited a sentimental sadness in me. 

“Beautiful as always Ella,” Mum said softly after I struck the last note. 

“The neighbours are probably asleep,” Father said walking past us heading straight into the kitchen. 

“Don’t listen to him, you have a gift Ella,” Mum said patting me on the shoulder as she too followed into the kitchen. Slowly, I got up and joined them. “You should be taking music at school, but nevertheless I’m sure they have an orchestra or something that is dying for skilled hands like yours.” Mum said reaching out to hold my hands. 

“Here you are Ella” Anne announced as I walked into the kitchen, suddenly feeling very tired. It must’ve shown because she added: “Don’t sleep now, it´s a long train ride,” 

“Train ride? Will got to fly there every year – nice and simple 45 minute flight.” 

“Your parents said it would be easier considering most of the other children take the train and it goes directly to the school – no messing about with a taxi or anything.” Why did that not surprise me? A school that old, with that many students returning every year would surely need its own station. I decided then that I would need to eat some toast now. I hated long train’s rides. 

“Don’t worry, they assure me its fine, not too long, and I put some ginger tablets in your bag last night in case you feel queasy.” Again, Anne didn’t look at me. Instead she seems obsessed by a small stain on the counter. 

“You have your medication?” Anne asked still staring at the stain. I had been prescribed every type of anti-psychotic or anti-depressant possible since I was young. I was labelled anything and everything from autistic to schizophrenic. That proves the calibre of psychiatrists my parents used. Of course, I didn’t necessarily fall into any category. My illness, gift, talent, problem whatever you want to call it was a little different, and after so many years of being drugged I had decided to take a little break from my medication. I hadn’t taken any of my tablets for two weeks now. I was starting to feel the difference.  It  was returning. 

“Yeah, they’re in my bag,” 

“Aren’t you going to take some with breakfast?” Anne said looking up at me, 

“I think it’ll be right, I’ll take them after,” I lied badly, but somehow Anne didn’t press the matter. Maybe she had given up on me? Or maybe she suspected the same thing I did – the pills were useless. 

The television was on but no one was watching it. The kitchen television was perpetually playing the world news. Mum said she liked to know what was happening in the world considering we all lived in different areas. I sat down with my toast at the large wooden table in the centre of the kitchen. The story playing on the news changed and at first I sat there watching it, without taking anything in. Then something sparked inside me it looked familiar, crumbs went flying everywhere as I jumped up out of my chair. The newsreader continued, 

“At this point in time details are a little sketchy. It appears he collapsed just after four am this morning. The ambulance and police arrived promptly after and an investigation will begin shortly. For now, it appears the twenty-two year old model turned presenter will be spending the next few days in hospital. He is reported to have had what witnesses are calling a schizophrenic episode where he attacked a fellow colleague before collapsing. The colleague is in intensive care, and surgeons are currently trying to establish the exact cause of the wounds.” 

Anne, who had been clearing up in the kitchen, dropped the utensils she was carrying at the time. We had both read the caption at the bottom of the story, “Will Mason”.“Anne, how come no one called our house to tell us about Will? I mean, screw school book the next flight. Where is he? Mexico?”” I asked, I was sure my already pale face was as white as a sheet.  ?  Anne had already run upstairs to get Mum; I knew that despite not actually hearing her leave. I ran to the phone and started dialling when Father suddenly pulled the phone out of my hand. I had no idea he had come downstairs and wondered how long he could possibly have been there. 

“He’ll be fine” he said putting the cordless phone back in its charger. 

“Can’t I call him?” I yelled. 

“No, it’s a waste of time, money and effort. Besides, he changed his number a few months back and refuses to tell us what it is. He’ll be fine, and if he isn’t – it’s his own fault. Meddling with no good people...” Father trailed off as he stomped angrily out of the kitchen and into his study. I knew he didn’t want anything to happen to Will, but in his own mind, Will was already gone. I stopped fighting for the phone and sat back down staring blankly at the television screen – the screen that had made this morning into more of a nightmare. I got out my mobile and his re-dial to call Isolde. The phone was engaged. 

“Anne, get the car ready. You and Evangeline should leave now.” Father instructed as soon as Anne had walked into the room. She was holding Mum up by the arm. She waited until mum was seated to follow Father’s instructions. Mum didn’t even look at me, she stared straight ahead at the pictures on the screen, feeling exactly how I felt – worried. She had never looked so terrified before. I didn’t dare say anything. When Father was angry, all hell could break loose and it wouldn’t even compare to his response. 

I grabbed my bags and began to walk out of the door, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge as I walked past. Mum still looked blank, clutching at her dressing gown for security. She saw the look of indifference on Father’s face. It didn’t ease her pain and I saw her body convulse with uncertainty. How could he be so heartless? 

“Goodbye sweetie” Mum muttered, she glanced over in my direction but still looked nervous and vague. “Be careful” she added. 

“I will Mum” I ran over and kissed her cheek. I didn’t even look at Father as I walked out of the room, still stunned by his utter callousness. I walked towards the car, not looking back and flung myself into the passenger’s side of the car. 

“Are you ready?” Anne asked before fastening her seatbelt. 

“Another year, another school” I added casually and with that, the car started and we were off to the station, still preoccupied by the mornings events. 


End file.
